


a quarter and a kiss (is all i should be worth to you)

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: The clink of a belt, the whoosh of satin--familiar sounds.
Relationships: Gol D. Roger/Silvers Rayleigh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	a quarter and a kiss (is all i should be worth to you)

**Author's Note:**

> (spritzes this tag with fertilizer)

Roger stands, silhouetted black beyond the foot of the bed as morning tugs against Rayleigh’s bare legs in golds and pinks. Arms crossed, unfolding over his head, fabric stretching dark between his hands as he shrugs it on. The clink of a belt, the whoosh of satin--familiar sounds.  _ The woman laughs and shields the parting of her mouth with a curtain of nails, the man loops bruising fingers around Rayleigh’s wrist and grins when he doesn’t flinch, the patron lingers in their hand and eye as he polishes the rim of his glass with his tongue.  _

Rayleigh pulls his knees closer to his chest, retreats from the light kissing sorbet stripes up his skin, eyes still fixed on the dark shape of his captain.  _ His  _ captain,  _ their  _ bed. He lets out a slow breath. Roger watches, scrutinizes the way his eyelids flutter and his mouth goes slack where he presses his temple into the sheet, and Rayleigh stares back up into that blank space, the man-shaped hole in the room with his pupils rimming his half-lowered eyelids. 

“Keep getting dressed,” he says, speaking up into that faceless void. Roger begins buttoning his shirt without a word, just a pleased hum, but this time, Rayleigh can see the shape of his arm lit up by all the fine hairs that tickle against Rayleigh's forearms when Roger reaches over to clasp their hands together. He turns, and Rayleigh can see his profile in stark definition, the mustache Rayleigh had failed at talking him out of sweeping gracelessly--handsomely--from his face, the one that brushes his upper lip and his his cheek and his navel as Roger traces his hard angles with loving teeth and tongue. Roger makes another jovial, non-committal noise, and something about it punches right through Rayleigh. 

_ Walk away _ , the feeling in his gut snakes up his ears, drags a burning path through his consciousness in anticipation for that chasm yawning wide--no dark space, just sunlight pinning Rayleigh to the sheets like a butterfly in a display case, frozen in time, no more shadows to hide in. It’s cool as he rolls over to fit in the dark shape stretching across the mattress.

(The night before, Roger's hands pressing him into the bedding with fingers thick and warm against flushed thighs. He rolls up the length of Rayleigh's body, nuzzling against the planes of his abdomen and trailing lips up to his collarbone, and Rayleigh wants so badly to kiss him that he  _ aches _ . It would startle him, the longing in his marrow, but everything about it makes such damnable sense that he just shakes his head, reaches down to pull him up by a fistful of dark hair.)

Roger does. He leans down to kiss Rayleigh and Rayleigh, eyes squeezed shut, turns away to receive a fraternal kiss on the high ridge of his cheekbone that makes Roger chuckle. “Alright,” he mutters with quirked lips, zips his pants up with a lazy hand and ambles out into the hall of the Oro Jackson to let Rayleigh stew. 

There’s a hum of soreness in his muscle, but he doesn’t scorn his body for it, feels the productive pull of good strain and fortifying musculature, built around himself with purpose. It’s not the rigidity of katas forming muscle memory in thin wrists--not that he’s ever been the type for those--but instead, the rote of good labor and followed horizons, building him with an ease that couples well with a warm bed to fall into at day’s end.

Rayleigh rolls onto his back with an exhale, feels light snaking his full form and making the raised creases of his sleep shirt glow. Warm. His eyelids flutter and he arches off the mattress, feeling the stretch, the pull of tendon along his ribs and up his arms with a pleasant sort of tension that makes him sigh. The noise floats in the empty room, indulgent, and he smiles, eyes screwed shut. 

Roger is hunched over a plate in the galley when he rises, clinking and fork little more than a blur of motion with his fervor, but Rayleigh just rolls his eyes and grins, loops himself around the bulk of the younger man. Roger makes a curious little  _ hrm? _ , shifts his elbows down and slows just a touch, but otherwise goes about his meal. Rayleigh chuckles into his nape, catches the eye of a crewmate who’s flushing and scratching their head as they turn in embarrassment. His smile widens at that, his own sensibilities unbothered. 

“Hi, Roger,” Rayleigh says, swiveling down to smother himself against his captain’s hairline, the scent there pure, familiar skin. Roger hums in acknowledgement, brings one hand up to wipe his mouth with the back of it. 

“I love you,” Rayleigh mutters, but it’s enough to make his captain jolt, a rush of warmth skittering down the curved length of his spine. His eyes slide shut on an easy grin, thinking back to the way Rayleigh had drawn away from his touch earlier--not fear, but close, a trembling sort of apprehension--and so, doesn’t respond. Roger tilts his head and accepts the touch graciously, and Rayleigh can feel it again: the tug of the morning and the pull of the sea rocking him on his heels, the good natured jeer of his crewmates and the whisper of  _ home  _ carrying itself on the wind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Older thing I padded out some because I just want to feed this tag and promote my doomer Rayleigh agenda shdjygsdh. No thoughts!
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment/whatever you're in the mood fer.
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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